Not sure yet
by Chris Kenworthy
Summary: Liz tries to come to terms with Max's revelations and the possibility of dating Alex. Sequel to 'In another world'
1. Part 1

Title: "Not sure yet." (Yes, that's a title.)  
  
Part: 1  
  
Author: Chris Kenworthy  
  
Email: kelworth@chriskweb.net  
  
Series: Roswell Dreams. Sequel to 'In another world.'  
  
Rating: PG?  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or premise of 'Roswell,' look for Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, or the Fox head honchos. I just write stories here. :]  
  
Home archive: http://www.fanfiction.net/~chriskenworthy  
  
Category: Alt universe, skewed reality season 1. UC couples leading to CC couples.  
  
Spoilers: Pilot and 'Morning after'  
  
Dedication: For everybody I met the first time writing 'In another world.'  
  
Memories of the last few days hit Liz Parker slowly as she woke up, like a big sponge ball. At first she actually didn't remember that anything was different, and then it started coming back to her. Getting shot in the cafe. Max Evans healing her. Finding out Max and his friends were aliens. Being interrogated by Sheriff Valenti. Spilling the secret to Alex Whitman. How the six of them, herself, Alex, Max, Max's sister Isabel, Michael Guerin, and Tess Martin, had worked together on a plan to lead Valenti's suspicions away from the real aliens and towards his son, Kyle Valenti, and Maria DeLucca -- The two teenagers that Valenti couldn't believe evil of. Alex asking her out.  
  
Liz stretched and got up out of bed. It was six thirty in the morning - too early to be getting ready for school. She put a robe on and walked over to the new computer in the corner of her room. Her father had agreed to pay three quarters of the price for Liz to have a computer 'for the new school year,' if she made up the rest out of her paycheck. Sitting down into the chair and hitting a key at random, Liz brought the machine out of standby.  
  
To Liz's surprise, she found herself creating a password-protected file called 'Journal.' Well, why not? It might help her to sort things out to see them commited to the white page, as it were, and doing it on the computer was probably the best way of making sure the information never accidentally fell into the wrong hands. Checking behind her as if to make sure that there weren't any bugs (though if anyone *were* spying on her the cameras wouldn't be obvious of course,) Liz started typing.  
  
"There are so many things I'm feeling right now, it's hard to even count them all. Even though I know very well just how different Max Evans and I are, it's impossible for me to let go of the notion that a very deep, very powerful bond between us was forged in the past few days. I wonder if he feels it too?  
  
"Then, there are Max's 'friends.' Isabel, Michael, Tess. They seem to resent what Max told me - resent that he's let me into his life in this small way. But I suppose I'd feel pretty upset too if I were in their place. What did Max mean when he said that it was 'instinct' that brought him and Tess together? What were those dreams he talked about like?!  
  
"And then there's Alex. Don't get me wrong -- I'm psyched that we've gotten out of our little holding pattern, but there's a little part deep inside of me that I think keeps comparing Alex to Max. Why would I be doing that?"  
  
After a good half a minute, Liz couldn't come up with anything else to add to her first journal entry. So she tagged on the date and time, closed the file under its password barrier, and started getting dressed. She could help out with waiting tables for breakfast and maybe pick up some tips.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Max Evans realized that he felt a little carefree as he turned into the driveway next to an affluent house in north Roswell. He jumped out of the driver's seat, took the porch stairs two at a time, reached out to knock on the oak wooden door -- and got his hand bashed in as the door swung open without warning.  
  
"Oh, hey Max!!" It was Carol Martin, Tess' adoptive mother, running out of her house and trying to carry a black briefcase, a grocery bag, and a gym bag all at once. Something seemed on the verge of slipping between her fingers, though it was hard to tell quite which it would be.  
  
"Can I help you with something?" Max asked politely. Miss Martin smiled gratefully and handed him the grocery and gym bags.  
  
"No, don't worry about that," she muttered as Max took a reflexive step back towards the porch stairs and Miss Martin's car. "Just let me get organized here, and then I can manage to get all my junk to the car." She smoothed down her suit jacket and held out her right arm. "Gym bag." Max proferred it, and following Miss Martin's unspoken cues pushed it onto her arm, up to the elbow. "Tess just came down to breakfast when I left, go ahead and join her. Lunch." Max handed over the grocery bag. "I wouldn't be leaving so soon, but we've got a sales pitch to deliver at nine and nothing is ready. Talk to you another time Max!!" She hurried down the stairs, unlocking her Mercedes with the keyless remote and heading towards the back seat.  
  
Max shrugged and headed on inside.  
  
Tess was sitting alone at the breakfast table, taking her time with a bowl of grapenuts and a glass of orange juice, (which Max *knew* had about five drops of tabasco in it.)  
  
She was dressed for school already - a pleated white skirt that Max just caught a glimpse of as he entered the Martin's dining room, a light lavender blouse, and her curly hair pulled back into a big puffy ponytail. **God, I love her.** Max didn't yet understand the why and wherefores of this bond he felt with Tess, but he treasured it, and he knew that Michael and Isabel felt the same - for all of their bickering, those two would do literally anything for each other...  
  
"Uh, hello, Max?" Tess was waving cutely at him, and Max realized he had gotten lost in his own thoughts for a second.  
  
"Sorry," he apologized with a smile, and headed over to er. "Good morning, sweetie." He bent down and kissed her playfully hello on the cheek, and then went into the kitchen to find some cereal of his own.  
  
"I called you last night," Tess said to him through the doorway. Right, that call. Max had noticed the message light flashing on his and Isabel's personal line when he woke up. On the message, Tess had said, more or less: 'Max? Max, when you get this message, I need to see you or talk to you as soon as possible, okay?! Bye, baby.'  
  
That message was the reason that Max had come over to the Martin's for breakfast. "Yeah, I got the message," he confirmed for Tess' benefit. "I was sleeping when you called."  
  
Tess finised off her tabasco orange juice with a flair that Max couldn't immediately put his finger. "Incredible."  
  
Max was heading back into the dining room, having decided to put his tabasco on his corn flakes (as well as maple syrup,) and take his apple juice straight. "What??"  
  
"That you can SLEEP when the answer to every question we've ever had about ourselves is *out there* somewhere!!"  
  
Max sighed around his spoonful of cereal, and shook his head slightly at his irrepressible girlfriend. "That picture Liz told me about?! Come on, Tess, that picture is evidence that there was an alien murderer around two generations ago. Even if he's still alive, I don't think he - it, or whatever, would be our best source of answers."  
  
"Come on, Max," Tess groaned, looking up at him. "She... let's say it's a she, for argument's sake. She was probably a survivor of the crash, hunted by ignorant humans for twelve years and more. I'd have been surprised if someone in that situation WOULDN'T have to kill to defend herself in that much time."  
  
Max looked at Tess, not quite sure how to take her words. And then, suddenly, the sound of the front door opening again tabled the discussion again. "Hello? Anybody around??"  
  
"We're in here, Phil!" Tess called out in response. Soon a slightly shaggy-haired man in his mid-thirties poked his head into the doorway from the living room.  
  
"Just dropped by to say good morning and good luck to my favorite neice," Phil said. Tess stared at him doubtfully. "Though I wouldn't say no to breakfast. Is Car at the office already?"  
  
Tess checked her watch as her adoptive uncle put some bread into the toaster and poured a cup black from the coffee maker. "Almost there, I'd say."  
  
Phil put his cup on the table, and turned his attention towards Max. "Uhh... Max, right?" Max nodded. "How's it going, Max my man? That screenplay of yours going okay?"  
  
"Umm... haven't had much time for it lately, Phil," Max muttered, not quite sure exactly what the older man was talking about.  
  
"You were telling me about it after the picnic, earlier this summer," Phil explained. Max wondered if he was thinking of someone else who had been at that party, but he didn't comment. "Like a steel trap." Phil tapped his cranium proudly.  
  
"Well..." Tess pushed her chair out and shot a meaningful glance over at Max's cornflake bowl, which was already almost empty. "We'd better be heading off to school now. You can lock up when you're done, Uncle Phil?" She got up and blew him a goodbye kiss.  
  
"Um, sure... but one more thing. Do you know when Carol's gonna be back?"  
  
"Umm... probably around six, as usual. Why??" Tess looked into the thirtysomething slacker's face, and understanding hit. "You're short this month? What happened to the bookstore job??"  
  
"Oh, I've still got it," Phil hastily assured her. "But that shi=- uh, shiphead Mr. Martson docked my pay just because..."  
  
"It's okay, Phil," Tess told him, cutting off what could have been a long sob story. "Well, come by for dinner tonight and you guys can talk about it, brother to sister. If she says no, I've got a little spare in the allowance fund that could help tide you over." She turned to Max, who was just finishing the last of his juice. "Coming honey?" 


	2. Part 2

Title: "Not sure yet." (Yes, that's a title.)  
  
Part: 2  
  
Author: Chris Kenworthy  
  
Email: chrisk@fanfiction.net  
  
Series: Roswell Dreams. Sequel to 'In another world.'  
  
Rating: PG?  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or premise of 'Roswell,' look for Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, or the Fox head honchos. I just write stories here. :]  
  
Home archive: http://www.fanfiction.net/~chriskenworthy  
  
Category: Alt universe, skewed reality season 1. UC couples leading to CC couples.  
  
Spoilers: Pilot and 'Morning after'  
  
"So," Maria called out to Alex as he rushed into the Crashdown kitchen after school that day. "You and Liz 'agreed to go out?'"  
  
Alex paused in the middle of shrugging off his navy autumn jacket. Liz watched the developing scene with interest. "Yep." After that one word, Alex hung up the coat and picked up the heavy cloth apron he had to wear while working at the fryer or the grill.  
  
"Did you two kiss last night?" Maria asked him with a sly smile.  
  
Alex blinked in surprise, and Liz felt just as shocked. "No... I was assuming that would wait until after the date. If Liz gives the okay then, of course."  
  
Maria pshawwed loudly. "Bass-man, this isn't the stone ages. Kiss her!"  
  
Alex looked up at Liz. **I have to be blushing - he can probably see it from there.** "Well, maybe sometime, if the right opportunity presents itself before Saturday night..."  
  
"No," Maria told him. "Right here, no more waiting. Kiss her!" When neither Alex nor Liz replied, Maria started making a chant of it. "Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!" To Liz's mortification, customers out in the dining room started to pick up the call. "KISS HER!! KISS HER!! KISS HER..."  
  
"If you don't, Whitman, I just might," some guy, a junior from the high school at a table with his buddies called out. Liz cringed.  
  
At that point, Alex nodded to himself, smiled apologetically, and took a step closer to Liz. She knew what he was trying to tell her, without any words spoken. 'Better just to get this over with.' At this point, Liz wasn't about to argue. She stepped forward to Alex herself, noticing that the stretch of wall between the kitchen door and the orders window was right between them, and that behind it, the people eavesdropping in the dining room wouldn't be able to see them clearly, if at all. It was the next best thing to not being in public for this.  
  
Of course, Maria was right there in the kitchen with them, and as Alex awkwardly slipped his arms around Liz's waist and aimed for a peck on her cheek, Liz could tell that would *not* cut it with Miss DeLuca. Pushed on by imminent necessity and a strange sense of giddy carpe-diesm, Liz took Alex's head in her hands and brought his lips in a 'no kidding around', full-contact kiss.  
  
She couldn't tell how long it lasted. It was nice... no, nice is something you say about the turquoise sweater your dad gets you for christmas. It was very close to great. Despite his nervous mannerisms, Alex Charles Whitman was a damn good kisser.  
  
A smattering of applause from the 'gallery' broke Liz out of the moment. Flashing a thank you smile at Alex, Liz strode back through the kitchen door in full 'Assistant manager' mode. "Okay, okay, cut that out, nothin' ta see here. Business as usual at the Crashdown cafe," she announced out loud. "Back to your meals... is there anyone who needs their order taken? Right on that."  
  
As Liz hurried over to the pair of thirtysomething women who had waved at her, Liz suddenly noticed that Max, Tess, and Isabel Evans were sitting in the far corner booth. When had they shown up? Had Max seen any of her kiss with Alex? And why on earth, (or any other planet, for that matter,) should that bother her?  
  
* * * * *  
  
Kathleen looked around a little in confusion as she stepped out of the Roswell National Airport arrivals building into the pickups area. Nothing in Bureau training had prepared her for something like this. Just yesterday she had been working at her desk job outside of Detroit and trying to persuade her supervisor that she was qualified for another field assignment. **Be careful what you wish for, Katy babe.**  
  
An orange taxi pulled up right in front of her. "Hey, need a ride senora?" the driver, looking very much the part of an illegal Mexican alien, called out to her. Belatedly, Kathleen Topolsky remembered one of the few details she HAD been given about this mission before getting buncdled onto the plane.  
  
"How much into the center of town?" Did the driver nod slightly as she said the code phrase?  
  
"About fourteen, sixteen dollars." Phew, it was the correct countersign. This unlikely character was an FBI contact.  
  
Kathleen reached for the back door to the taxi, and suddenly the driver hit the power locks down. What the...? Oh, of course -- in her relief she had forgotten to give the appropriate counter-countersign. "Sounds like a great bargain to me." Something that no ordinary traveler would likely say after hearing that price quoted.  
  
Now the locks came up, and the driver/contact got out and helped Kathleen get her luggage into the back seat with her. "Entertainment," he said as he finished, pointing out a cd walkman hanging in a bag on the back of the front seats. "Please appreciate track nine." This was a low whisper to Kathleen as he backed out of the car to head back to his drivers' seat.  
  
Once they were underway, Kathleen took the portable cd player, inserted the tiny speaker units into her her ears. Raucous latin melodies assalted her. Quickly she repeated the 'track forward' button until a tiny electronic display indicated nine.  
  
"Hello Agent Topolsky," a man's voice said quietly. His tone somehow conveyed remarkable authority. "You're probably feeling somewhat confused right now, and I apologize for the necessary secrecy. I'll try to explain as much as possible now."  
  
"Let's see..." and the voice on the other end of the headphones sighed likably. "First off, I'm Agent John Stevens, Assistant Director for Operation Green here in the southwest. On a recent trip to Roswell, I was apprised of a serious threat to freedom, peace, and the American way of life. What exactly that threat is I cannot go into here for two reasons - the conceivable mischance that this disk might fall into unauthorized hands before it can be destroyed, and the overwhelming probability that you, Agent Topolsky, are not yet ready to face the truth. Don't worry, though, I'll bring you up to speed soon."  
  
Kathleen continued to listen in disbelief as the track played on. "What I can tell you about the enemy, for now, is that they exist at West Roswell High School -- at least while their classes are in session, they do."  
  
"And now we approach the reason why you specifically, Kathleen Shaye Toposky of East Lansing, Michigan, have been summoned to New Mexico. You completed nineteen months of teacher's college before you were recruited by the Bureau. You have completed a field assignment with commendation, and your profile ranks you favorably in creativity, self-defense skills, determination, empathy, and loyalty. All of these things were required for the agent I would choose as my key operative."  
  
"The Project Green team has set up a deep cover at the high school, and tomorrow morning you are going to move into that cover. Salvatore will provide you with the documentation on that. The code name of your assignt is simply 'West Roswell High,' Agent Topolsky. This recording will self-destruct in three seconds."  
  
"Yeah, right," Kathleen muttered under her breath, but the walkman shook underneath her fingers and a peculiar sound came over the headphones. Curious, she opened the latch, and to her amazement the CD had shattered into at least several dozen pieces. Some large chunks were still together, but they looked like they were all from around the edge, where the decoy tracks would have been recorded. Further inside the shards were small and there was even some powder residue.  
  
"Oh, senora!!" Salvatore (at least Kathleen assumed it was he,) cried out, the soul of apologetic concern. "Do not worry, I clean up, I clean up."  
  
Kathleen smiled weakly and let the cab carry her onwards into the unknown.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"We don't know *anything* about them," Alex rambled from the armchair in his bedroom. "Not really, I mean. Max did *not* explain much to you, no offense intended, and who can tell if he was even on the level about the stuff he DID spill?"  
  
"All very good points," Liz replied from the computer desk. "But all that is beside the point that we're *supposed* to be working on this hideous geography paper." Despite her teasing tone, Liz was worried. It wasn't like Alex to stay off on a tangent for so long. **He must really be freaked about this extraterrestrial thing.**  
  
"I can't believe you're trying to play the whole thing down, Liz," Alex accused. "I mean, they're *aliens.* We d--"  
  
"Don't use that word!" Liz interrupted. "Don't get into the habit, all right? Call them..." She racked her brain. "Call them Albanians, okay?? It's just one extra syllable stuck in the middle of -- that word."  
  
Alex had to stifle a few snickers befor getting back to his tirade. "We don't know anything about... Albanians. We have no frame of refence to judge what they're telling us, and most of the important things they haven't even *tried* to answer. Where EXACTLY do these specifc Albanians come from? What are their people like?? And another thing... I hate to put it this way," and Alex shook his head sheepishly, "but the chances that Albanians would look almost exactly like us are billions to one against. They must have... made themselves look like 'Americans' somehow." The way Alex stressed the word American made it clear that it was the code word for human in the Albanian analogy, not the word Alex would have chosen if speaking freely.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, you may be right," Liz admitted. "But what good does it do to obsess about stuff like that?"  
  
"It gets us prepared to ask the right questions the next time your Albanian friends need our help," Alex said, standing up and looking out of his bedroom window. "Speaking of whom - Albanian alert."  
  
Liz barely looked up from the textbook. "Which one?"  
  
"The one with legs up to the Alps," Alex quipped. Liz shook her head and went over to look out the window. Sure enough, Isabel Evans was making her way up Alex's street, looking all around as she walked.  
  
"What is she doing outside my house?" Alex asked. "They're spying on me, aren't they??"  
  
Liz fought back a smile to half intensity. "Or maybe it's just possible she's walking from her place," she pointed a hand in the direction she was pretty sure the Evanses lived at, "to Michael's." Michael Guerin lived in the trailer park with his foster father, that much was common knowledge at West Roswell High. Liz pointed her second arm, and sure enough they were almost opposite and nearly parallel to Alex's street.  
  
"Okay, okay, okay," Alex sighed. "I know when I'm licked. Social geography??" He walked back to the computer desk and took the chair Liz had been sitting in. Liz smiled and pushed the armchair closer.  
  
"Oh, one more thing," Alex said, looking up and making eye contact. "Before we get too wrapped up in cultural ethnicity distributions, ha ha..."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Our date Friday... is it okay if it's just slices of pizza and a walk in the park? I've got a bit of a cash-flow problem this week."  
  
"Well, you don't have to pay for everything," Liz quickly disclaimed, "but that actually sounds really cool."  
  
Alex blinked in surprise. "You sure??"  
  
Liz thought about it for a second. "Yeah. I mean, we've been to the movies just as friends so many times that something like that wouldn't seem special, you know what I mean?"  
  
"Cool." Alex smiled, and turned back to the computer. "So...."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Tess and I were only talking about it a little on the way home from the Crash festival," Michael explained, turning and pacing back across the short 'bedroom' area of his foster dad's trailer. "But I think it's a chance we can't afford to pass up. We're in the clear now - if there's any way we can find out more about that 1959 alien then we should..."  
  
"We're not *in the clear,* Michael," Isabel corrected. She was lying nearly upside down on his bed, her legs stretched up the wall of the trailer, her head hanging off the edge slightly as she looked at the reversed room... and reversed Michael. "Valenti's uncertain enough not to arrest Max or anything - by how small a margin we don't know. And he may have his suspicions about the rest of us too." She re-arranged herself, moving her legs over to a different wall so that the rest of herself would all fit on the bunk.  
  
"So... you're not too wild about the idea of stealing the picture then??" Michael guessed with a wry grin.  
  
"There's already a few too many humans in Roswell who know all about us," Isabel answered. "I'd rather not have James Valenti join the club."  
  
Michael nodded. "Liz Parker and her little friend?"  
  
"No, the *other* humans who recently found out all about us," she shot back witheringly. "Of course Liz and Alex Whitman."  
  
"I dunno." Michael shrugged. "They seem pretty stand-up to me. I mean, I don't know them and I'd rather not have to hang out with them much, but they *did* save all our butts at the Crash."  
  
"The only way to keep a secret is to KEEP IT," Isabel stated. "And we were doing a great job on that, the four of us, for years!! Then all of a sudden this Parker girl gets herself shot and what happens? Max heals her and tells her what he is. What *all* of us are. She tells Alex. Probably before you know it, Alex will tell his good friend Maria DeLuca, Maria will confess it all to her boy-toy Kyle and Kyle will rat us out to daddy!! Then where the heck are we gonna be? Our butts wouldn't have needed any saving at the Crash if..."  
  
Isabel's tirade was interrupted at that point when Michael, who had leaned down next to her without her really noticing, bent over and kissed her on the lips. FOr a few second, Isabel went with it, kissing back and letting her hands drift up to hold Michael's strong, comfortable arms while that delicious feeling ran all the way through her body. Then it all came back to her and she yanked her face back away from Michael's. He stared at her in surprise.  
  
"We... we shouldn't be doing that, Michael," she reminded him.  
  
Michael stood up again and made an exaggerated show of scanning the entire trailer, looking for something. "Well... I don't see your parents here."  
  
"It's not just that, Michael," she told him. "My parents are not the only reason I wanted to go on a break, and even if they were, I wouldn't tell them I wasn't seeing you and kiss you whenever they aren't around."  
  
Michael started pacing again. "I thought we were only *pretending* to be on a break... my mistake, I guess. So..." He turned to face her. "What's the rest of it??"  
  
Caught by surprise, Isabel played dumb while she got her thoughts in order. "The rest of what??"  
  
"You know what I'm talking about," Michael said, shaking his head. "The rest of why you wanted to go 'on a break.'"  
  
Isabel stood up from the bed and walked nervously over to lean against the other side of the trailer. "I just... I wanted some time to try and think all of this over. I mean... look at the situation from outside a second, Michael?? Are you really sure that you want to date me because of a mating instinct?? Sure that you want those dreams to tell you who to be with? Who to love???"  
  
"I never needed the dreams to tell me that I loved you, Isabel," Michael said sincerely, looking straight into her eyes. Then that mischievous twinkle came back. "They just showed me a new *way* to love you."  
  
Isabel shook her head at Michael's teasing. "I... I guess I'm not so sure. It's been months since the dreams - and there's a whole big world out there. Maybe the four of us have gotten tightly enough wrapped around in each other that we can't see it anymore."  
  
"It's not *our* world, Isabel," Michael reminded her softly.  
  
"But we live in it, don't we?" Isabel replied, and then sighed. "Well, I think that's more than enough talk about... this sort of thing, don't you??" She smiled over at Michael. "Your foster dad's gonna be home soon - wanna get dinner started??"  
  
* * * * *  
  
Kathleen reached up and knocked on the West Roswell High Principal's office door at precisely 8:47 am, just as the briefing papers she had gotten from the cab driver instructed. Why that time mattered she didn't know. (The FBI documentation had also instructed her to burn the papers once she had memorized them and flush the ashes down her hotel toilet - orders she had been happy enough to follow through on. Less aggravation than having to eat the paper at least.)  
  
"What is it??" an irritated voice called from inside. Kathleen thought about how to answer that, and the challenge was suddenly modified to "I'm sorry, I'm sorry -- who is it, please??"  
  
"Kathleen Topolsky," she replied, torn between confidence and trepidation.  
  
"Who??" the mysterious voice answered, and then she heard the sound of footsteps approaching the door. "Oh, yes." The door was smoothly opened to reveal a well-dressed African-american man in his late forties with short hair and a slightly receding hairline. "The state-appointed guidance counsellor?"  
  
"Yes," Kathleen agreed, taking the hand that the handsome older man offered for her to shake. "William Forrester?"  
  
"That's me," Forrester agreed with a small smile. "Sorry, but things are crazy this morning and we never heard that you would be coming until the 'confirmation letter' day before yesterday. The first Board memo must have gone astray."  
  
"'Whatever can go wrong...'" Kathleen agreed, trying not to let too much of her smile show. Rule number two of manipulating bureaucracies - if you refer to a non-existent 'earlier communique' the non-arrival of such a message will be blamed on some ordinary snafu.  
  
"Entirely too true this morning, I'm afraid," Forrester agreed. "It seems Murphy has moved in to stay. A group of animal-cruelty-conscious juniors have gotten the notion stuck in their heads that the Thursday 'mystery meat' is in fact veal, and are staging a protest rally in the cafeteria. Ants have been spotted in the drama rehearsing room... George Singer called in sick at the last moment with bronchitis and I can't seem to find a substitute..." He trailed off, a notion obviously occurring to him. "Miss Topolsky, would you feel comfortable covering a sophomore geometry class for me? Not exactly in your job description, I know, but I'm in a bind here."  
  
Kathleen thought fast. No sense in getting Forrester upset with her right off the bat. "I'll give it the old college try, sir."  
  
"Okay, umm... Tania" Forrester flagged down a woman walking down the small office hallway. "Could you show Miss Topolsky here to George's desk in the teacher's lounge so she can find his curriculum notes, and then point her in the direction of 116?"  
  
"Umm... okay, sir," Tania replied after a moment's pause.  
  
"I'm gonna go see if I can nip the veal situation in the bud," Forrester told Kathleen as he closed his door, "but I want to talk to you later about this vocational psychology stuff you did your Master's thesis on, Miss Topolsky!" He hurried off, leaving Topolsky to wonder exactly what Agent Stevens had put in her file he sent to the school and how she was going to talk her way out of this one.  
  
"So..." Tania said as she led Kathleen back to the main student thoroughfare. "You're a new substitute??"  
  
She thought a second. This might lead to more useful information than if the girl knew she was 'the new state-appointed guidance counsellor.' "Yeah, pretty much."  
  
"Well, don't worry, our kids are pretty well-behaved. Usually. There was that time that the basketball team..." And the administrative assistant, (that was pretty much what Kathleen figured her role was,) started yattering on about some favorite student prank as she led Kathleen around.  
  
When Kathleen finally got to the class she was substituting for, it was a few minutes after the bell had rung. She introduced herself as the substitute, turned to start calling the roll... and almost let her jaw drop open.  
  
The files from Agent Stevens mentioned three names: Liz Parker, material witness. Alex Whitman, corroborating witness. Max Evans, suspect. (What he was suspected of wasn't even hinted at.) Before getting to Forrester's office, Kathleen had managed to find out, (through some non-subtle questioning,) that Max Evans was dating Tess Martin, so Kathleen had added that as a fourth name in her head with a question mark beside it. The girlfriend was always crucial in some way or another.  
  
Three of those four names were on the roll for this class.  
  
No Whitman, but Evans, Maxwell... (a handsome young man with a shock of short, dark brown hair and very soulful eyes,) Martin, Therese, aka 'Tess'... (a pretty, perky teenage girl with blonde curls, who seemed a little distracted,) and Parker, Elizabeth, (who looked like an old soul to Kathleen, with deep brown eyes that matched her long straight hair. She seemed unable to stop stealing glances at Ma when neither he nor Tess were looking.)  
  
But Kathleen covered her shock and her inner thoughts well, she thought, as she called off the roll. A few students missing- Barbara Bunshner, Michael Guerin, and Steven Totham, none of whose absences seemed to surprise the other students, so Kathleen put it down to chronic ditch syndrome.  
  
She had enough other things to worry about. Kathleen had always liked math, but it had been several years since she'd needed to know the formula for calculating the area of a parallelogram.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Liz packed up her books as quickly as she could and hurried after Max. "Hey, can we talk a sec," she puffed in a low whisper as she got close.  
  
"Why would we want to?" Tess said pointedly from beside Max. Max shot her a look.  
  
"What is it," he whispered back, as softly as Liz had.  
  
Liz tried to get her thoughts together. "Umm, how've you been? We haven't really gotten a chance to talk since..."  
  
"Liz," Max cut in intently. "We can catch up on small talk later. Was there something else?"  
  
"Um, actually, there w-was," Liz stuttered out. "Did you... I don't know, notice anything weird about that substitute teacher?"  
  
"She seemed about as normal as any other substitute teacher to me," Tess volunteered. "Not that *that's* a high bar to clear."  
  
"There was something... I don't know how to put my finger on it," Liz insisted. "For one thing, she was looking at us."  
  
"She's the teacher, Liz, she kinda *has* to look at us," Max said softly.  
  
"No, not like that. She was staring at the three of us, especially you and me, Max. Whenever she didn't think anyone was paying attention to her, but after a little bit I started watching for it."  
  
"Even if that's true, there are a hundred perfectly reasonable explanations for it," Tess put in. "Maybe you reminded her of her cousin. Maybe she thought Max was cute. Maybe she was trying to guess if the two of you were going steady or not. Maybe..."  
  
"The point is," Max smoothly cut his exciteable and rambling girlfriend off, "you're feeling a little jumpy and getting suspicious for no good reason, Liz." He looked her in the eyes condescendingly. "We've all been through it at one point or another. The only thing to do is try your best to put it out of your mind and act as normal as you possibly can. Can you do th--"  
  
"Hey! Liz!!" The call interrupted Max's urgent murmur, right before Liz would have had to decide whether to commit to something she didn't want to or risk upsetting Max and Tess. **Saved by the friend.**  
  
"Maria!!" Flashing a quick goodbye wave to Max and his sweetie from below shoulder level, where it would be hard for Maria to see it with Liz's body in the way, she turned away from them to meet her oldest girlfriend. Liz knew that Max wouldn't be offended. It just didn't make sense to advertise her association with Max or his alien friends to Maria any more than she could help. "What's up?"  
  
"Tonight," Maria opened up without preamble. "Girl's night in. We'll watch 'Sleepless in Seattle' on video or something."  
  
"Um, I..." Liz shook her head, trying to organize her thoughts.  
  
"We need to catch up," Maria reminded her. "You gonna be there?"  
  
Liz smiled. "With bells on."  
  
TO BE CONTINUED... 


	3. Part 3

Title: "Not sure yet." (Yes, that's a title.)  
  
Part: 3  
  
Author: Chris Kenworthy  
  
Email: chrisk@fanfiction.net  
  
Series: Roswell Dreams. Sequel to 'In another world.'  
  
Rating: PG?  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or premise of 'Roswell,' look for Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, or the Fox head honchos. I just write stories here. :]  
  
Home archive: http://www.fanfiction.net/~chriskenworthy  
  
Category: Alt universe, skewed reality season 1. UC couples leading to CC couples.  
  
Spoilers: Pilot and 'Morning after'  
  
Liz opened up her lunch bag. She and Alex were sitting alone on one of the concrete risers out behind the high school. "So, I mean, it's impossible... right?? That she's not who she says she is?"  
  
"A geometry teacher?" Alex took a bite out of his sandwich and looked over at her, a worried expression on her face. "I'd be surprised if that was all she was."  
  
"What??"  
  
"I've been doing a little crash research ever since you told me, Liz," he continued with a sigh. "Every source that is willing to accept that aliens on earth is a reality agrees on one thing - wherever there's a sighting or a suspicious incident, federal agents don't take long to arrive. Hushing up public knowledge of whatever went down and trying to get to the bottom of it themselves."  
  
"Alex!!" Liz shook her head in frustration. "You're pulling my leg, aren't you?? Trying to make me think Ms Topolsky is... is an 'X-files' agent or something like that."  
  
"Liz, trust me, I am very serious here!!" Alex insisted. "Where do you think they got the idea for that show?? Now, I'm not saying that it's Topolsky for sure. But sooner or later, one or more alien hunters are going to show up here at West Roswell High, and we have to be suspicious of every new face."  
  
"Hmmph." Liz sighed to herself a moment. "Well, if that's so, what do you think that we can do??"  
  
Alex mulled over that a bit. "Maybe it's time we considered bringing Maria into this. She's got good instincts."  
  
"No, we can't!!" Liz insisted. "Look, Alex, there's no way we can ever tell *anyone* else about this!!"  
  
"Well then what else can we do?" Alex countered. "You can't deny that things are getting creepy. We don't even know how far we can trust your little 'Albanian' friends. We won't make it as just the two of us against the galaxy, Liz. We need some help."  
  
Somehow, at the same time both of their gazes were drawn across the field, where Maria sat on a bench with her back half turned towards where they were sitting. She was sketching something out on a large pad which Liz recognized the pattern of - a star chart. Maria fancied herself as an amateur astrologist, among other things, and had developed quite a patter line for mapping the stars and planets of vague acquaintances. Today, the victim was apparently one of Kyle Valenti's buddies from the football team. It seemed to Liz as if she could almost hear her best girlfriend as she gestured emphatically at a particularly dramatic moment - and lost her grip on the pad, which flipped into the grass, the pages spilling out every which way that they could.  
  
"I know she doesn't look like much, but she's the only secret weapon we've got access to," Alex whispered softly.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Jim Valenti strode into his office in a foul mood. An FBI agent sitting in the middle of his station?? And Jim had to essentially threaten to throw him out physically to get him to leave. He sat down, picked up the telephone, and dialed a number.  
  
"Federal Bureau of Investigations, Santa Fe. My name is Amy. How may I direct your call today??"  
  
"Hello, Amy," Jim drawled sardonically. "John Stevens please - that's Stevens with a v as in Victor."  
  
"Thank you sir, one moment please." There was a faint click, but the next voice Jim heard was still Amy's. "My apologies, sir, but Special Agent Stevens has flagged the do not disturb option on his extension. I can connect you to his voice mail if you like..."  
  
Valenti didn't even respond to that - the voice mail of an FBI special agent was like a black hole - nothing good ever emerged from it again. "But he sent an agent into my building! I think I have a right to an immediate explanation..."  
  
"Or if you like," Amy continued, talking over him without even seeming to notice that he was there, "you can try again later when Special Agent Stevens may not be so busy..."  
  
"No, I won't call back."  
  
"Or if you like, I can take a note and personally remind Mister Stevens to return your call - say tomorrow, at nine thirty in the morning, schedule permitting??"  
  
"No, *tomorrow* is not acceptable!!" Valenti raged into the phone.  
  
"I'm sorry if I haven't been able to meet your needs today, but..." Amy started, and Valenti saw the brush-off coming.  
  
"Yeah, I'm sorry about it too. Listen..."  
  
"Thank you for calling the New Mexico Bureau of Investigations."  
  
"No, excuse me..."  
  
"Have a nice day!!" The line clicked dead.  
  
"Hello? Hello!?" Jim barked into the phone, but he knew it was hopeless. He hung his own handpiece up too. An awful suspicion was starting to play around the edges of his mind. It was a fantastic piece of paranoia perhaps, but Valenti had spent enough time around men like Stevens to know that paranoia was not only healthy, it could sometimes be required. He opened his private files and started to fish around, looking for something.  
  
He sorted through endless photos and witness depositions. They weren't of the utmost importance. Valenti had memorized them all, and if Stevens confiscated them all, they probably wouldn't tell him anything that he didn't already know from the FBI's own research. Of course, they represented physical evidence, and for that reason alone they were valuable to Jim. But he didn't think he'd be able to save, if Stevens was being as methodical as usual.  
  
Ah, there it was. A single piece of typewriter-quality paper, only five inches by eight and a half. Both sides of it were covered in strange symbols and writing, inscribed in what looked like green-colored ballpoint ink. Jim could probably replicate this also from memory, but he still hadn't figured out its meaning and thus might miss some critical detail. Plus, he was absolutely certain that it was nothing like anything that Stevens had, and he wanted things to stay that way.  
  
Looking around, his eyes fell on a framed picture of himself and Kyle on his desk. That would do. Taking the back off the frame, he winced and folded the paper into three sections along its width - it had never experienced so much as a crease before. But necessary sacrifices - the resulting package was small enough to fit into the four by six space easily. He restored the back and returned the frame to its usual place. He doubted that any of Stevens' goons would disturb that.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Liz had actually forgotten the whole mess with the geometry substitute teacher and Alex's warning by the time fifth period let out. She was just racing down the corridor, hoping to be in time to get one of the good seats near a window for study hall, when she felt herself collide with someone and realized, belatedly, that she hadn't been watching where she was going.  
  
File folders scattered everywhere. "Uhh... Mrs. Topolsky!!" she muttered, surprised as she recognized her collidee."  
  
She looked up. "Parker. Liz."  
  
Liz blinked. "Yeah..."  
  
Her confusion must have shown through that syllable, because Topolsky grinned quirkily. "Photographic memory," she explained, almost apologetically.  
  
"Really - like eidetic recall?" Topolsky's face went blank. "I, I, uh never met anyone with a photographic memory before."  
  
"Helps in my line of work." Now, what did she mean by that?? Well, a substitute teacher probably had to learn and remember a lot, looking at a page once and being able to visualize it would probably be useful, yeah.  
  
It was weird - at the same moment, both of them became aware of all the papers that Miss Topolsky had dropped. "Here, let me help you with that," Liz mumbled, squatting down and reaching for one of the fallen folders.  
  
"No, that's okay," Topolsky blurted out, practically snatching the file away from Liz's vicinity. Liz watched for an uncomfortable moment as the teacher tried to get everything in order, and then very tentatively and carefully picked up a folder that had ended up behind her foot. Topolsky accepted this with a little more grace - she was almost put back together by this time, but when the files shifter for an instant, she could see a familiar face looking back at her from within the folder. A photograph - Tess Martin's picture.  
  
"Thanks, Liz." And then Topolsky was gone. It belatedly occured to Liz that she should have tried to find some way to look for photos in the other files, but there had been no time. She stood there, in the middle of the corridor, study hall forgotten. It was hard to be sure, now, that she'd even seen what she thought she had.  
  
No - she definitely had seen Tess' photo in that folder. And come to think of it, Topolsky had been behaving very suspiciously all through that exchange - as if she had something to hide.  
  
The question was, what did she, Liz Parker, do about it now?  
  
* * * * *  
  
So, after last class ended, Liz found herself trying to find one Miss Tess Martin. She quickly cruised past Max's locker and the corridor where she thought she had seen Tess herself, but no luck. She finally spotted a familiar face dimly through the windshield of a blue SUV and hurried over, waving. Tess slowed down and came to a stop, and Liz dashed out in front of the vehicle to come around to the driver's side window and talk to her.  
  
Suddenly the engine roared, and Liz realized that Tess HADN'T actually seen her - she had only been waiting at the stop sign. Liz shrieked, and then Tess finally turned and saw her and yelped herself, slamming on the brakes. The front fender of the car lightly touched Liz's shins.  
  
"Parker, are you trying to get yourself killed??" Tess shouted through the glass.  
  
Her heart still racing, Liz turned around and tried a new tack. She opened up the passenger seat and got in without waiting for an invitation. "Drive," she ordered softly, pulling the shoulder-strap seat belt snugly around her.  
  
Tess seemed about to challenge this, but perhaps there was something in Liz's voice that she didn't feel comfortable arguing with right away. As they pulled away and travelled several blocks away from school grounds without being seen, Liz started to relax. Tess took that as her cue.  
  
"What the hell is this all about??"  
  
"I... I came to warn you," Liz stuttered out, still nervous and feeling more than a little foolish about, as Tess had put it, 'trying to get herself killed.' "Miss... Miss Topolsky."  
  
"Gawd, are we back on her again?? She's just a substitute teacher, Liz. You're jumping at shadows."  
  
"Then why did she pull your file from the school records, Tess?" Liz jabbed back, and had the satisfaction of seeing the other girl jump a little in surprise. "I bumped into her this afternoon, sent a bunch of her papers flying. Some of them were DEFINITELY about you - your picture."  
  
"Well, maybe she's..." the sentence died away as Tess presumably couldn't think of an innocuous reason why a substitute teacher would have her files. She turned up a fairly quiet-looking residential street. "Well, what do you want me to do??"  
  
"I... I don't know," Liz muttered, as Tess slowly cruised up the street. The thought suddenly ran through her mind that this was Max's girlfriend, and how she would feel if it had been Max whose picture was in those records. Suddenly the answer was clear. "Maybe stay clear of school? Just until we've figured out what her deal is??"  
  
"You mean ditch??" Tess pulled into a driveway and turned off the motor. "Well, it's not like I don't appreciate the excuse, I guess." She opened the door. "Well, thanks for the warning, Liz. It's good to know that there's someone else looking out for us, I guess." The look she was throwing Liz unmistakeably said 'Get out of my car, I'll deal with this from here.'  
  
Liz did get out, but as she looked around she couldn't help wonder what she was going to do next. Ending up in this situation wasn't something that had gone through her mind when she got into Tess' car. "Um, listen, could I go in and use your phone??"  
  
Tess sighed, and looked around. "I guess. Derron's here, though." She gestured to a car out parked out on the street in front of her house. "Don't talk to him unless you're spoken to, okay? Last thing I want is the two of you to get into a conversation."  
  
What did that mean? Who was this Derron. "Step-father? Your mom's new boyfriend?"  
  
"Personal Assistant," Tess said cryptically as she led the way across her lawn. Liz followed the other girl up the porch steps and through the front door into the house.  
  
"Tess, hi. Ohh - and you've brought home a new friend!! What's your name??"   
  
"Let's not go that far," Tess mumbled softly - presumably about Liz being her friend. But Derron wouldn't have been able to hear her - Liz could only just make it out.  
  
The man waiting for them in the living room was short, only an inch taller than Liz or Tess (and neither of them were tall girls,) with very short hair, shaved down to a fraction of an inch and dyed a brilliant shade of blonde, black-rimmed glasses with small lenses, wearing a white dress shirt, gray tie, black dress pants and shoes. He seemed, to Liz, more than a little effete but also friendly and likeable.  
  
"Umm... Lis Parker, sir," Liz answered him softly.  
  
"Liz just came in to use the phone, Derron," Tess said firmly. "I'll show her where it is." As she led Liz out through another open doorway, she whispered quietly "My mom worries about me being a 'latchkey teenager' with her having to work late hours. So she sends Derron around to check in on me pretty often." She stopped and made a dramatic gesture. "Voila - phone."  
  
Liz picked up the handset and called the DeLuca residence. Maria agreed to come right over and pick her up.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Things came to a head at the Martin house a little later that evening. Max had come over to pick Tess up to go out for pizza, and bumped into Michael on his way in, who Tess has called over to discuss what Liz had told her. Once Max found what they were so worked up about, he called Isabel to come over and join the meeting. (And for backup, as Michael muttered out loud.)  
  
"You're being ridiculous," was Isabel's first comment. "I mean, granted, I haven't even seen this subsitute teacher," (Isabel was already taking junior math - Trig,) "But there is *no* way that a government operative is going to show up in geometry class, of all places. NO WAY." Michael could tell that she was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to make her point to the rest of them.  
  
"Why not??" Tess fired back. "I mean, if there are alien hunters, they're not retarded. If this situation calls for subtlety, and I think I can see why it might, what better cover story than a teacher?? Since we're high school students, they're automatically part of the scenery."  
  
Michael broke in. "I'm not sure about this Topolsky chick, but there are definitely government agents in Roswell." Everyone stared at him. "Valenti threw one out of his station this morning. Two more have been watching the place without bugging him."  
  
Isabel shook her head in disbelief. "Is that what you've been doing all day?? Watching the sheriff's station for suspicious characters??"  
  
"Isn't it a good thing that I did?" Michael shot back blithely. "Maybe they're looking to take that photograph off of him. Don't you think we'd better break them to the punch?"  
  
"Break into the sheriff's station?" From her tone of voice, even Tess thought that was a little risky. "Do you even have a plan or anything, Michael??"  
  
"Not yet," he replied enigmatically. Before anyone could ask Michael exactly what he meant by that, the front door opened.  
  
"Tess?" Carol Martin called as she came into the front hall. "Oh -- cheer, cheer, the gang's all here." She smiled at Max, Michael, and Isabel - she knew them all, of course. Tess had been friends with all three since before Carol had adopted her. "What's going on??"  
  
"I was just paying a quick drive-by visit," Isabel quickly blurted out, and Michael nodded in agreement.  
  
"Okay." Carol turned to Max and Tess. "D'you wanna stay for dinner, Max?? I've got a chicken stir-fry ready to go into the frying pan, as it were."  
  
"Actually, we were planning on..." Tess changed her mind in midsentence and looked up at Max, who nodded slightly. "Yeah, we'll stay Mom."  
  
As Michael and Isabel stepped down the front walk, Isabel half-smiled over at him. "So... well, we could go and grab something to eat. Y'know, just as friends."  
  
"Maybe another time," Michael mumbled. "I've gotta go buy some peanut clusters."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Kathleen sat on the hotel bed, waiting for the telephone to ring. Her instructions, the ones she had burned and flushed last night, had told her she would be getting a call - between 8 and 8:15 she thought, though she had been waiting at 6 and 7 just in case she had misremembered. (She wished she really *had* photographic memory, but that had just been to cover the fact that she recognized Liz Parker on first sight.)  
  
Had there been more to that collision with Parker than met the eye?? Topolsky couldn't be sure. After picking up that geometry class, Kathleen had tried to settle into her role as guidance counsellor, and pulled some files from records, including the one of her three suspects who was doing worst in geometry class, Tess Martin. (She had figured it would seem less suspicious to be pulling files on middling students than honors kids.) She had also found that Evans, comma Max had a sister in the same grade, Evans, comma Isabel, and added Isabel mentally to her investigate list. She had asked Tania the gofer if the Evans kids were twins, but Tania didn't know.  
  
Topolsky had also found an apartment that was within the funds she had available, but it wouldn't be ready for her to move in until the day after tomorrow, so that sounded like another two nights in the hotel.  
  
And then the telephone rang, and Kathleen had scooped it up before the first ring had finished. "Yes?"  
  
"About fourteen, sixteen dollars," a voice mumbled over the line. Oh! Kathleen hadn't realized that this code word would be repeated, but it made a little sense. She fought to remember the correct response yet again.  
  
"Sounds like a great bargain to me."  
  
"Good evening, Agent Topolsky. Did you have a productive day??"  
  
"I... I think so." The voice seemed familiar - of course, the CD message. "Agent Stevens, sir."  
  
"Tell me about it, briefly." Topolsky summarized her activities at the school, and Stevens mmmed agreeably.  
  
"May I ask, sir... what is this about?? What is Max Evans suspected of??"  
  
"Of being an agent of an alien power."  
  
"A spy for a hostile foreign country??" Wouldn't that be a job for the CIA or NSA?? No, not necessarily, considering that he was operating within US borders, Kathleen remembered. Federal Bureau did monitor such suspects that came to their attention.  
  
"No, Agent Topolsky," the voice corrected. "Not for a foreign country here on earth."  
  
"What??" It took Kathleen a second to process that qualification. "So, when you said alien, you mean... alien alien?? As in extraterrestrial?"  
  
"Precisely. Agent Topolsky. Aliens are quite definitely real."  
  
She couldn't resist asking. "And a flying saucer really landed in Roswell in 1947??"  
  
"I'm not allowed to comment on that, but for the purposes of this investigation, you should probably consider the reality of the Roswell Incident a strong possibility."  
  
Tess shook that off and got back to business. "What evidence do you have? Is Tess Martin a suspect? Max's sister Isabel?? What, exactly, were Liz Parker and Alex Whitman witnesses to??"  
  
"Miss Martin was in the company of Evans at the time of a suspicious incident that came to my attention, so yes, she is probably under some suspicion. We have no cause to suspect Max's sister except for the fact that she is that." And Stevens began to tell her about an argument in a cafe...  
  
* * * * *  
  
It was a little after ten thirty, and "Sleepless in Seattle" had finished. Liz and Maria were indulging in a little 'girls' night in' required ritual - a sweet treat that would normally be off limits. In this case, chocolate hazelnut swirl ice cream.  
  
"Okay, so the big date with Whitman is tomorrow night," Maria recapped, pulling a long string of her ice cream out of the bowl with her spoon, nutty bits and all. "What are you gonna wear??"  
  
"Um, I don't know." Dressing up specially for pizza and a walk in the park with Alex hadn't really occured to her. "My black sleeveless top and red skirt, I guess."  
  
"Hmmm... not bad," Maria decided. "But he's already seen you in that outfit. Karen Riley's cabin party in June, remember??"  
  
Liz scowled. "Well, what do you expect, then? Alex has probably seen every outfit I own, we've been friends for years. And I don't have the time or money to go and buy an all-new outfit before tomorrow."  
  
Maria sighed. "Well, good thing I keep a few emergency date clothes. We can pick something out for you a little later." She sighed and took another mouthful of the ice cream. "By the way, I was meaning to ask you something about the Crash festival."  
  
Liz blinked in surprise, having to be careful not to spit out her own mouthful. "What? Ask away."  
  
"Well, it was really weird. Sheriff Valenti grabbed me like he thought I had done something wrong. But then he realized who I was, and Kyle was there - he asked Kyle where we had been, and then left. Do you have any idea what that was about??"  
  
"Uh, no, no, I really don't," Liz blurted out. Maria's eyes narrowed a little, and Liz realized that she might have said the wrong thing. Any number of people could have seen the stunt they had pulled, with Tess pretending to heal Alex in a costume identical to Maria's and then running away -- anyone could have told Maria that they were involved. Should she change her answer.  
  
But Maria shook the moment off, and soon they were talking about gossip and movies.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Topolsky walked back into the geometry class room - the principal had asked her to keep covering Mister Singer's classes, for the sake of continuity, and she had been more than happy enough to agree, if only to keep an eye on her watch list.  
  
She was still reeling from the background that Stevens had told her, and the additional revelation that a suit agent would be contacting her this afternoon to be of any assistance that he could. She was paying even less attention to the lesson material than the previous day, and that was how it happened.  
  
"Okay, and the interior angles of any quadrilateral will add up to one hundred and eighty degrees," and I heard Liz mutter something ending in 'she talking about.' "Miss Parker, do you have something that you'd like to share with the rest of the class?"  
  
"Three hundred and sixty degrees," she announced out loud, simply.  
  
"What was that??"  
  
"It's a *quadrilateral.* The sum of the angles add up to three hundred and sixty degrees, a full circle." I was stunned at the correction, and not certain if she was right or not, so I stayed silent, which only gave her an opportunity to wax more eloquent.  
  
"You can try it on a square if you like - a square's a good example of a quadrilateral, right??" Liz Parker's voice was condescending, as if she fancied herself the teacher and saw Kathleen herself as a student, and not a bright one at that. "Four right angles, which make up the four quarters of a circle." Some other student waved a paper in the air, demonstrating, a circle cut into four quarters, and a rough square with quarter-circular arcs indicated at the four vertices. Everyone was starting to laugh.  
  
"THAT IS ENOUGH!!" I shouted. "You have made your point, Miss Parker, and quite ably. I made a mistake. That is *no* excuse to show such disrespect."  
  
"I'm sorry, Miss Tolopsky," Liz said, with a sudden facade of meekness, her hands in her lap. "Should I go to the principal's office and say I'm sorry??"  
  
Topolsky wondered. Just what would Parker say to Forrester if Kathleen took her up on that suggestion?? She decided not to risk it. "The latter will be quite sufficient, Liz. After all, what would the rest of us do without you to check my work??"  
  
The kids laughed again, more kindly. Making herself the point of the joke had been a good move. Still she waited, waiting to see if Liz would actually follow through.  
  
"I'm sorry, Miss Topolsky."  
  
"Okay." Kathleen returned to the front. "So, three hundred and sixty for a quadrilateral. Can anyone tell me how many circles the internal angles of a pentagon would make up??"  
  
TO BE CONTINUED... 


End file.
